The Shield of Weeping Ghosts

Chapter Three

Running toward the open square, Bastun yelled through the fog. Dulled thunder rolled through the clouds. The wind picked up, obscuring his warnings. Syrolf shouted behind him, running to stop him, but as the wind shifted Bastun could already hear the sound of taut bowstrings straining against the curve of bows. He spun around, seeing Syrolf several paces back, and waved his hand.

"Get down!"

Arrows whipped through the fog, cracking against buildings on the eastern side of the road. Several found their marks. A few warriors dropped to their knee with arrows embedded in shoulders and legs or long cuts where the missiles had grazed exposed skin. Bastun rolled in the snow, diving behind a nearby column for cover. Shouts erupted from the square down the street, a similar attack taking Duras by surprise. The Rashemi acted quickly, scattering and spreading out so they would not be such easy targets. Syrolf and a few others formed a semi-circle around Thaena, who began casting.

Bastun watched and waited as Thaena wove a spell of protection against the bows. The energy she summoned made tiny ripples in the Weave that he could feel, tempting him to call upon his own magic. He gritted his teeth, breathing slow and even.

The attackers loosed another volley of arrows, this time at

Thaena, but her spell held strong, knocking the missiles from the air to land useless in the snow.

Rocks shifted from the ruin on the western side of the road, and with a fierce war cry the Nar burst from their hiding spots, brandishing axes and long-handled swords. The fang answered that cry with a call every bit as fierce, growling as they summoned the famed rage of the berserkers. Up the street, Duras and the rest of the warriors howled their own call to battle and formed a line to close the square into a killing ground.

Bastun gripped his staff. The warriors to the south prowled forward, baring their teeth and hunched low to the ground, ready to spring. Duras to the north did much the same, backing out of bow range to force their attackers to come forth and face them. Though slightly greater in numbers, the Nar were more than evenly matched. Thaena held her staff low, respecting the stand-off and ready to add her magic to the battle. The guards that protected her were ready to lay down their lives in her defense and eager to lay down many more Nar lives in doing so.

No one looked for Bastun. No warrior came to fight at his side or even glanced his way. Under normal circumstances Bastun would have preferred this, but under normal circumstances his hands would not be so tied by wychlaren law.

The Nar poured down the fog-shrouded rubble. Fur cloaks flowed around their broad shoulders, their bare arms riddled with tattoos. Bows had been left behind in favor of the vicious heavy blades they bore with ease. As they reached the base of the pile and continued their charge across the snow, they shouted battle cries. The Rashemi charged back, closing their spread line and raising their voices in unison.

Steel rang against steel, and the Nar cries dissolved into grunts and challenges. The Rashemi continued growling, losing themselves in an animal fury that grew with each strike. Thaena cast globes of crackling black energy into the fray, taking at least one screaming Nar to the ground where he writhed for long moments before laying still. Bastun heard Duras's voice from the north, but he could only see the faint glow of dropped torches on the ground. Blurry silhouettes danced, flickered, and disappeared in the fog.

Biting his lip, Bastun fought to maintain his calm. He was forbidden to cast any magic until safely away from Shandaular's borders. He knew the wychlaren could not have suspected the Nar would enter the city so brazenly, and for a heartbeat he wondered how the Nar had accomplished such a feat in the first place. Peering south again, he saw the Nar had not been prepared for the berserkers and had backed up several paces to defend themselves against the assault. To their credit, the Nar maintained a fierceness that was impressive.

Syrolf slashed again and again in wild abandon, seeming possessed as he bore down on yet another foe. Finding the proper opening, he swept the thick-bladed short sword behind his opponent's knee, lifting high and laying the Nar on his back to be hacked apart before he could rise. Cries of victory spurred the others on and they called out their kills, competing with one another even in combat.

Thaena's circle of guards had joined the rest of the fang to better face their attackers. The ethran stood her ground fiercely, shattering a Nar blade with a gesture and swinging her staff into his jaw. Before his broken teeth had time to disappear into the snow, she was casting again. She spun and sang words of magic, a vision of Rashemi myth and legend leaving her foes in ruin.

In the midst of the battle, Bastun detected the sound of more rocks tumbling from the wall of rubble, his mask picking up the noise of steel sliding from leather scabbards. A second group of seven Nar had crept to the base of the wall in silence, murder in their eyes as they saw Thaena's exposed back. Bastun cursed and pulled the hood from his head, measuring his breath as he stepped from behind the column to intercept the would-be assassins.

"Forbiddance be damned," he whispered and charged forward, chanting a spell and hurling a sphere of ice that exploded in the chest of the lead barbarian. The man cried out in shock and pain, bleeding and gasping for air as he fell.

Positioning himself between the Nar and Thaena, Bastun challenged them. Long, thin braids framed his mask, and the wind whipped at his cloak, revealing layers of light leather armor. His heart pounded as the freedom of battle built within him. Though Bastun had joined the vremyonni, his master had nurtured and encouraged the Rashemi fury in his spirit. Spells clamored in his mind for release, and he chose quickly as the Nar abandoned stealth to advance on the lone wizard.

Bastun cast again, and shadows curled from the ground beneath the Nar, becoming solid and wrapping around the legs of three, pulling them down. Two others sidestepped the writhing black tentacles and the third rushed forward, raising an axe to strike. Hissing a command word, Bastun brought his staff forward, the steel sphere at its tip flashing and screeching as it grew into a long, curving axe blade.

The two axes sparked as they clanged together. Bastun smiled at the surprise in the barbarian's eyes. He pushed the Nar back before swinging at the man's stomach. The Nar attempted a block with his own axe, but he was forced to jump back at the unexpected ferocity of the vremyonni. He became entangled in the net of tentacles that had taken his fellow warriors.

Bastun reversed the swing and ripped open the Nar's leather breastplate, slashing through flesh and sending the barbarian into the shadowy web. A second Nar came from his left, sneering as he closed with his long blade. Bastun blocked the attack with his axe, defending himself as he chanted, the magic spilling from his mind. Knocking the Nar's sword aside he thrust out his right hand, slamming a burst of force into the Nar's chest that sent the barbarian spinning into the wall of rubble.

The remaining Nar ran past the vremyonni and charged Thaena. Turning, she had no time to prepare another spell.

She raised her staff, shock in her eyes. A stream of fire flowed from Bastun's fingertips as he ran at the Nar's back, watching the fur cloak burst into flames as the man fell to the ground. Screaming and throwing off the cloak, the Nar tried to rise, and Bastun kicked him in the side, knocking the man on his back. Roaring, he buried his axe in the Nar's exposed chest and ended his struggles.

Breathing heavily, Bastun met Thaena's stare, unreadable behind the mask, but Bastun expected he did not see the gratitude of an old friend, rather the quiet judgment of the wychlaren. Behind her, the other Nar were trying to retreat in the face of the fang's fury. Few of the attackers remained standing, and the Rashemi suffered only shallow cuts and bruises-nothing to slow down their battle lust.

Grunting, Bastun freed his axe from the dead barbarian and turned to the Nar still trapped in shadowy tentacles. With a word and a gesture, he threw a small ball of wet clay into the middle of the writhing mass. The snow nearby turned brown as the ground beneath them liquefied and bubbled. A few of the Nar screamed as they sank, intensifying their attempts to escape the tentacles, but within moments the entire grisly scene had disappeared into the muddy soil. Bastun barely glanced at the sodden mess before sprinting toward the open square to assist Duras.

On the edge of the battleground, he surveyed the fight. Thirteen Nar still stood, backing toward a makeshift barricade of old wood and stone across the wychlaren's path. Cast-aside torches guttered in the snow, their flickering light shining in the eyes of dead Nar and flashing on swinging blades. Duras fought at the lead, snarling as he traded blow after blow with the Nar. An arrow shaft in his shoulder had broken off in the struggle, but he seemed not to notice the injury.

The sounds of battle had faded behind him, and Bastun heard another noise in the distance. Just below the clang of steel and grunts of pain a low moaning carried itself on the wind. Bastun took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as the battle-lust left his muscles and his heart slowed to a normal rhythm. Concentrating, he whispered a spell, hoping that his message could penetrate the fury in the mind of Duras. Knowing that any spoken words might fall on deaf ears, he willed his thoughts to reach the warrior. The moaning grew louder and closer, and he shouted through the Weave.

Duras! The dead! They're coming! Let the Nar retreat!

Duras shook his head, confused, and shoved the Nar facing him back into the barricade. Thrusting and slashing he did not slow his attack, and Bastun repeated the message. Duras's fury faltered a bit as the warning pierced through his bloodlust. Shaking his head again and stepping back from the battle, he cast a glance at Bastun, blinking as he tried to calm himself. Taking heaving breaths, he nodded, gritting his teeth as he sheathed his long sword and drew an ivory hunting horn from his belt. Halfway to Bastun he blew a long note on the horn-a call for retreat. The other members of the fang held back their attacks, shaking off their fury as they gave ground to their foes. The Nar, however, mistook the cue and renewed their assault, complicating the situation. Duras reached for his sword, torn between Bastun's warning and returning to the battle.

Bastun studied the opening of the square even as Thaena and Syrolf advanced from behind. Calling the correct spells to mind he stepped toward Duras.

"Go!" he said, meeting the warrior's gaze with a quiet confidence he hoped would sway his old friend, then added, "Call the retreat again and keep Thaena and the others back. Trust me."

Hesitating, Duras nodded and blew the horn as he rushed to stop the others. An odd chill had filtered into the wind, and the scent of death filled Bastun's nostrils as he watched the warriors fall back against the Nar advance. Arcane words tumbled passed his lips, and from a pouch at his belt he pulled a pinch of sulfur. The sulfur hissed as it burned away, singeing the fingers of his glove. Hundreds of tiny glowing lights appeared all over the ground, silencing the arguments he could hear between Duras and Syrolf.

Gesturing at the Nar, Bastun watched the lights scurry away, leaving little trails through the snow. Weaving in between the legs of the Rashemi they crawled, glowing embers of living flame, to leap at the legs of the Nar. The ambushers fell back, trying to brush off the hundreds fiery spiders that bit and burned whatever they touched. The Rashemi obeyed the call to retreat, cries of surprise becoming screams of pain behind them as they rejoined the rest of the fang.

Everyone heard the moaning now-a chorus of wailing voices on a chilled breeze of decay. The dim torches on the ground guttered out, leaving only the tiny lights of the swarming spiders visible through the fog and growing darkness. Bastun backed toward the rest of the group as a deeper darkness crept along the edges of the barricade. Black forms distinguished themselves in the crawling shadow, twisted arms and malformed heads, incorporeal bodies that swam through a multitudinous wave of spirits.

"What evil have you summoned, vremyonni?" Syrolf whispered.

Bastun didn't answer. Reaching Thaena's side he waved her back.

"We have to go-now,"he said, trying to be silent, though he knew it didn't matter against the senses of the dead. The edges of the crawling cloud reached the panicking Nar, and a second set of voices joined the moaning, the screams of the Nar just as chilling as the winter wind. The nimbus of crawling light surrounding a few of the Nar moved through the fog toward Bastun and the fang, trying to escape the grim tide of death.

Chanting and spreading a fine dust over the snow, Thaena strode forward and slammed her staff into the ground. As she completed the spell, a shimmering barrier materialized between the buildings on the right and the wall of rubble on the left. Walking swiftly, she returned to the group and nodded to Duras.

"Now we go," she said coldly.

The fang moved quickly back the way they had come. No one turned to watch the fate of the Nar. Only Bastun looked to see them beating against the ethran's invisible wall as the dead engulfed them. Then Syrolf blocked his view, scowling with sword in hand to keep the vremyonni moving.

After a few blocks, losing themselves in the maze of Shandaular's streets, Duras broke the silence.

"What is happening, Thaena? How did Nar get into Shandaular?"

The ethran didn't answer right away, her steely gaze fixed on the road ahead. Similar questions were at the forefront of Bastun's thoughts as well, but he wondered not how the Nar got in, rather why they would come to such a place at all.

"We'll return to the second wall," Thaena answered. "I remember seeing an intact gatehouse. We shall tend to our wounded and discuss the situation there."

Duras nodded, apparently not wishing to press her further on the subject, and moved to direct the lead warriors toward the gatehouse.

Bastun noticed a trail of little spots appearing ahead of his every step-each one a bright scarlet, dripped from the wounds of the warriors. Some of them pressed against deep cuts, while others tried to disguise a slight limp. This behavior too-though a common point of pride among all berserkers-was also taken from the wolf, who would hide or attempt to ignore injury to stay with the pack. It was another reason Bastun wished he'd been one of them-and also one of the primary reasons he was not and never would be.

"You wasted no time ignoring the rules of your exile, Bastun," Thaena said, still looking forward.

"I did what I thought best," he replied. "I–I meant no disrespect."

"The Nar have… changed things," she said, her eyes scanning the shadows among the ruin, and let the matter of rules and laws drop. He too could not keep from wondering if another ambush awaited them, though his heart raced at her nearness. "The Shield s hathran may be in need of our assistance."

"You suspect the Shield to be in danger?" he asked.

"I can imagine few other reasons for the Nar to be here, in this broken city," she said, echoing his thoughts. "And no one comes here without a good reason."

He said nothing else, thinking of his own reasons for being brought here and the life he might know upon leaving again. The presence of his old friends tangled his thoughts and hopes for a different life. At the moment he wished that the wychlaren had chosen someone else to lead this mission, someone he could look straight through and despise without complication.

Thaena glanced at him, her eyes unreadable within the wychlaren mask, and whispered, "Thank you, Bastun-for ignoring the rules."

"There's no need, Thaena, I-" he said, trying to catch her eye before she returned to careful study of the dark corners they passed, but she seemed already far distant again, "It's nice… to hear something familiar."

"Familiar?"

"Your voice, speaking my name," he said. "It's been a long time."

She looked at him once, before quickening her stride to join Duras at the head of the formation. Bastun watched her until she became just another blur in the fog, another set of anonymous footprints in the snow. Sighing, he chided himself and shook his head.

"You're welcome," he said under his breath.

After his sister's funeral he had not been allowed to meet or speak with anyone before being taken away to the Running

Rocks. The wychlaren had thought it best. The rumors were spreading, and due to his magical talent he would be joining the vremyonni. They thought that with time the stories would be forgotten and that the rumors would fade away. Thaena and Duras had become a dream and Ulsera a nightmare. Seeing his old friends both now made that dream more real and his nightmare even more so-the memory that he had been the one to send Ulsera to her death.

The snow grew deeper as they walked, the footsteps before and behind Bastun growing louder and more forced. Even in the wind he could hear the return of the whispers. Glancing over his shoulder, Bastun saw Syrolf striding close on his heels as if leading an angry mob, which he likely did. The fang called him prejhenovani, or "one who summons evil"-and considering the Nar attack, Bastun felt inclined to agree. Misfortune seemed a traveling companion he could not shake.

He looked to each of the obelisks they'd passed before the ambush, and he contemplated the ash smeared in Nar symbols atop them. The warriors they'd fought could be the least of their worries if they encountered the author of those symbols.